


Rescued to the Stars

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clara Has Two Boyfriends, Clara's two boyfriends put up with one another for Clara, F/M, Gen, Inquiry Fix-It, Malcolm as a devoted uncle, Multi, Post-Goolding Inquiry, Prompt Fic, Threesome - F/M/M, cuddlecore, rated for Malcolm's language and sexytimes both stated and implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: Having faced the raven and yet is still marking papers, Clara convinces the Doctor to investigate the topic of a young student's essay: a missing person's report on her uncle, a former political worker in government named Malcolm Tucker.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone wanted Twelve/Clara/Malcolm and I ended up with a bunch of story setup instead.

“Hey Doctor, you ever go somewhere just to figure out what happened?” Clara wondered. She was sitting in her favorite chair in the console room, marking essays by the dozens, while he was down underneath the control panels doing some tuneups.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Oh, you know… go and investigate missing persons or unexplained phenomenon, see if you can ruin the mystique and mystery with science… stuff like that.”

“What brought this on?”

“This girl, Jemma, wrote her essay about her uncle disappearing,” she explained. “He just up and vanished into thin air a few years ago when he was involved in some government scandal or whatnot, leaving nothing but her as the beneficiary of his estate.”

“I thought you taught the pudding brains Literature, not whatever that is.”

“I’ve got a class of Year Eights and this is the term they first start learning about essay drafting. We ease them into the research aspect by assigning a semi-recent event as their topic and Jemma chose something close to her.” By now the Doctor had found his way to her side, looking over her shoulder at the assignment. “The only reason I know her uncle left her everything is because I’ve talked with her dad at length; his brother adored Jemma, but the warm, loving figure she knew clashes with the heartless man the public saw and that causes her to get into rows.”

“What did he do?”

“Technically? Perjury—simple enough stuff that he had the talent to convince the inquiry committee to drop the charges—but he wasn’t exactly liked enough to utilize his charms to their full extent. I remember the trial from the news; everything was a mess.”

“Jemma… is that the one about yae-high?” the Doctor asked, holding his hand at a seemingly arbitrary height.

“They’re all that high,” she deadpanned. “Wavy brown hair, Glasgow accent, cussing streak a mile long…”

“That’s the one I’m talking about,” he nodded. “I think we can go pop down and see what happened.”

Clara blinked in confusion, watching him as he walked back down to the control panel. “Really?”

“Always knew there was something to Jemma, and now I know what,” he replied. “There’s still a bit of hope for her; find the beloved uncle, or at least his fate, give the girl some closure, and she can move on with life and shorten that cussing streak.” Flipping switches and fiddling with whatsits, the Time Lord prepped the ship for takeoff. “I’m sure if I can figure out why Agatha Christie vanished for a bit, I’m sure some government worker isn’t that difficult.”

“Knowing you, you probably were the _cause_ of Agatha Christie’s disappearance.”

“We’re veering off-topic; date please.”

With a destination locked and loaded, the TARDIS took off into the time vortex, plopping itself back out in a London only a few years from the one Clara was living in that moment. Stepping onto the pavement, Clara knew they were very near Whitehall, which was a good place to start considering Jemma’s uncle’s occupation.

“So, who are we looking for?” the Doctor asked.

“Well, going on Jemma’s dad, he’s tall and skinny, with a beaky nose, and my guess is that he was going grey,” she replied. “Donald claims to be the image of his brother, so we’ll see.”

Strolling down the street, Clara and the Doctor made sure to act casual as they searched for the missing man. With traffic cameras and CCTV unavoidable, they knew they needed to stick out as little as possible, or else risk being targeted by at least twenty different buildings’ worth of security guards. To make matters worse, there was a commotion outside a specific set of doors, with all sorts of reporters and camera-wielders intently staring to make sure they saw everyone who came out of the building.

“That looks familiar,” Clara said quietly. The pair crossed the street in order to avoid pushing through the throng of paps, as they had completely taken over the pavement. “I bet he came out of there on more than one occasion.”

“That bad, eh?”

“This particular fall from a political party’s graces was a very well-publicized one—he might as well of been publicly executed for all that was going on.”

“You nearly sound as if you believe him wholly innocent.”

“They televised the inquiry proceedings and the point where they believe they nailed his perjury doesn’t mesh. He was taken aback, but not in the way someone is when they’re caught in their lies… something was wrong.”

“Leave it to a secondary school teacher to figure out who the liars are in the world,” the Doctor chuckled. He then caught some movement out of the corner of his eye, his vision sharpening on the subject. “We’ve got a slippery one on our hands; come on.” Grabbing Clara’s hand, he went off in and entirely new direction, ducking into several different alleyways and enclosed carparks, chasing their quarry until he leaned up against the wall, completely out of breath.

“…Malcolm Tucker…?” Clara asked. The man tensed and pushed himself away from the wall, his brow furrowed in anger and grey eyes set in a nasty glare.

“Cannae man get a moment without being harassed?!” he hissed. “All I do for you day in and day out, wasting the best years of me, and I cannae get a moment when I’m down and need it!” His accent broadened and tightened at random, showing the sheer lack of control he had. The Doctor opened his mouth to tell the man to back down, but Clara stepped forward and held out her hand.

“Come with us if you want to see Jemma again.”

* * *

Malcolm was so distraught that he didn’t even notice the police call box he was quietly ushered into defied everything he was ever taught about scientific laws. The woman, Clara, brought him down a corridor into a cozy room where a fire was roaring in the hearth and tea already laid out. She helped him out of his coat and took his shoes when he sat down on the couch and kicked them off. By the time the Doctor found them, Malcolm had a mug of sweet, milky tea in his hands and a blanket draped across his shoulders.

“Where’s my niece?” the media man asked. “You said Jemma would be here.”

“No, I said we could _take you_ to see her,” the Doctor replied. “I don’t know what they thought you did, but Jemma thinks you’re innocent, and if not that then at least worthy of forgiveness.”

“She’s such a good lass—brightest girl in the fucking Isles,” Malcolm sniffled. He took a sip of his tea, ignoring the tears that were dripping off his nose and into the drink, and began to shiver all across his body. “She’s not… she’s not being given a hard time, is she?”

“There’s the odd shouting match, but they don’t know her uncle like she does,” Clara said. She handed Malcolm some tissue and hugged his shoulders supportively. “Go on; get it all out before we go see her. Uncle Mael needs to be _somewhat_ composed when he sees his niece again.”

And so he did. Putting down his cuppa, he sobbed into Clara’s shoulder. It was an ugly, messy affair where his breath hitched and his head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton afterwards, but something told him that it was going to be alright. When he was about done, he noticed that not only had Clara been holding him the entire time, but the Doctor was holding _her_ from behind, all three of them squeezed together on the couch.

“Sorry, I… this isn’t like me.”

“Take a couple days aboard the TARDIS to recover and we’ll bring you to Jemma,” the Doctor said. He sat silently as Clara stood and, after kissing Malcolm’s forehead, pecked his cheek and ruffled his hair before walking out of the room. Moments later and the ship came out of the time vortex, in a coordinate he knew as when he had picked her up. “Come on; let’s get you settled.”

Feeling the TARDIS go into autopilot—Clara must have dropped herself off—the Doctor took Malcolm through the innards of the ship to a spare room. It was spacious and well-furnished, making their guest immediately feel at home. The old girl was kind enough to stick a bathroom on it as well, meaning that he didn’t have to brave the rest of the corridors if he needed one.

“You said some nasty things back there,” the Doctor scowled.

“Not just nasty, but fucking _vile_ ,” Malcolm corrected. “I was in fucking hysterics—fuck, I’m still half in them. My whole life is now in shitty little shreds because I made one honest mistake after an entire career of being careful; don’t tell me that wouldn’t devastate you too.”

“It does every time it happens.”

For the first time since meeting him, Malcolm stopped and regarded the Doctor for what he was: _alien_. This stranger didn’t appear to be that much older than him for the most part, but his eyes looked so terribly old that it sent a chill up the human’s spine. He was standing in the same room as a man who had seen horrors and death uncountable—it was a look he saw on certain people, but it was never as horrific as it was at that moment.

“So, erm, Clara… is she like you?” he asked. Change of subject; always good in theory.

“What makes you ask that?”

“I walked into a police box and yet there’s more rooms in here than in a fucking palace. Is Clara an alien like you?”

“No, she’s perfectly Human like yourself,” the Doctor assured. “I’m a Time Lord, which is a subspecies of the dominant form of life on Gallifrey, in the constellation Kasterborous. Two arms, two legs, standing upright… it tends to work well evolutionarily-speaking. I’m sort of a self-made outcast, if you need to peg me as something, hence why I’m travelling with Clara.”

“No wonder… constellations don’t work that way, mate.”

“They don’t in your culture.” The two men stared at one another for a short while, neither one sure who should speak next, until the Doctor continued. “The TARDIS tends to our basic needs and she’ll look after you. Get some rest, because I get a feeling that Clara will call in the morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“To check in on you, possibly, and to most likely request an adventure.”

“That’s not code for some freaky alien shite, is it?”

“I promised Clara the stars, and therefore I give them to her,” the Doctor said. Malcolm considered that for a moment before nodding.

“She your girlfriend then?”

“No.”

“Wife?”

“It’s… not something you can put into words in either your language or mine,” he stated. “You’re staying here because she sees something in you that I don’t, and I’ve learned the hard way to trust her judgement when it comes to other men. We’re going to bring you to your niece, no worries.”

“How do you know my brother’s girl then?” Malcolm asked cautiously.

“Clara’s a teacher and Jemma’s one of her brightest. I meet most of her students and trust me when I say that it’s the real deal.”

“That’s good to know; both my sister and I never had kids, so all we’ve done has been for Jemma. She’ll be the Second Coming of us both, and if that doesn’t put the shitstains in line, nothing will.”

“I see.”

With that, the Doctor walked out and left his guest alone. Malcolm, not wanting to squander the hospitality, no matter how nerve-splitting, went into the ensuite and took a long, hot shower in order to scrub away the day before he was effectively kidnapped by an extraterrestrial and his human… partner…? No; that was too formal and distant a word for them. Whatever they were, the pair whisked him away and now he didn’t have meetings or hearings or journalists down his throat. He could breathe again, both figuratively and literally as the steam from the bottomless hot water cleared his sinuses, meaning he was free to start the process all over again.

After another lengthy and embarrassing cry, Malcolm dragged himself out of the shower, only to find that his clothes had been replaced with soft, warm pajamas that were folded neatly atop the sink. He dried off, put the new clothes on, and discovered slippers just outside the door in the bedroom. The bed looked too inviting for him to refuse and he flopped down on it, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

The three travelers ran fast as they could, eluding the blasterfire best they could. Hiding behind a rock so that the humans could catch their breath, Malcolm stared at his friends, completely baffled.

“I was the sweariest, most feared git in all of Whitehall and _you’re_ the one who fucks up an interstellar peace treaty?!” he snapped at the Doctor. “You’re fucking going to get us all killed!”

“The likelihood of that happening is _incredibly low_!” the Doctor argued. They heard a metal clanging noise and a canister rolled into view. “Actually, shut up.”

Breaking into a full-on sprint, the trio was able to get to an alternative safe spot before the grenade blew up. Some more dodging and running and close scrapes and they were finally back inside the TARDIS. Malcolm threw the switch that had been preset for him and they were off, nestled in the relative safety of the time vortex. For this being a relaxing holiday to steel himself for facing his niece after all he’d done, this had been a particularly exhausting number of weeks.

“I’m gonna go have a lie-down,” he announced, knowing what would happen next. After some sort of adventure, Clara and the Doctor would dance around the subject until they were tearing at one another’s clothes and he was carrying her to bed, needing to work off all the adrenaline _somehow_. Malcolm didn’t mind, though deep down he was more than a smidge jealous of the old alien bastard and the fact he had gotten to Clara first. He, on the other hand, would wander the ship’s corridors until he found the gym instead, running or punching or doing whatever he could to wear himself out. Between that and his appetite returning (a thing that had been repressed so long by what he now was suspecting to be job-related depression), he felt better than he had in years.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Clara agreed. She took the Doctor by the hand and the three of them entered the corridor just off the console room, wandering until they reached their bedrooms. The TARDIS had been placing Clara and Malcolm’s room across from one another since he had first been dragged aboard, which the latter both loved and hated, as it drove him up a wall.

“See you in a few hours, I guess,” he muttered.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Malcolm turned and saw Clara giving him the most blatant bedroom eyes he could have possibly imagined, while the Doctor stood in a passive scowl. She sashayed the couple steps that was left between them and gently tugged the collar of his pullover down, bringing him to her height so that she could kiss him. The gesture did not go past the lips, but yet it stirred something in him that he had kept quiet for a long, long time, which left him to stand there completely stunned.

“Come to bed,” she murmured against his mouth. “There’s room enough.”

“Uh... okay…”

Following the Doctor and, most importantly, Clara into the room, he saw that the bed was indeed larger than his, likely to accommodate what the two normally utilized it for aside from sleeping. The Doctor stripped off his coat and hoodie, leaving it so that his top half was only covered in t-shirt, and climbed into the bed after Clara, who had not removed anything aside from her shoes. She patted the side of the bed not occupied by the Doctor and Malcolm nodded, taking off his fleece jumper and shirt underneath, only leaving his vest. He laid down and snugged himself up against Clara’s side, tucking her shoulder underneath his chin. Out of his peripherals, he could see the Doctor using Clara’s other shoulder as a pillow, his hands in inappropriately possessive places.

“Is this what you want?” Malcolm whispered into Clara’s ear. She turned and pecked the tip of his nose while she had a hand tangled in the Doctor’s curls.

“Yes.”

* * *

Two months in and Malcolm was beginning to get antsy. He asked one day over breakfast, where the three of them were crammed all on a tiny table in the kitchen.

“Can I see my niece today?” he wondered. “I mean, what’s been happening is fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I’d like to see her.”

“Not today, since I know she has an exam to sit early tomorrow morning, but I can arrange to meet up with her after school,” Clara said plainly. “I’ll just say I need to talk to her about her marks before it gets too close to summer—it won’t be a problem. The school is usually pretty empty by the time we’d meet with her, so I wouldn’t worry about being seen by anyone who would potentially ruin things.”

“I just don’t want her to hate me,” he said, exhaling heavily. “What you’ve given me here is incredible, but there’s things she needs to hear from my own mouth or she’ll never believe it.”

“Then give me the time and you’ll get your time in,” she replied. He nodded and continued eating his breakfast, trusting that she would keep her word.

The following day and Clara kept her word. She rang during lunchtime, informing the Doctor that Jemma was coming to her room after school to discuss her marks. He landed the TARDIS in the cupboard next to her classroom and checked to make sure the coast was clear before braving Malcolm’s few steps in the corridor.

“You think anyone saw me?” the human asked.

“Nope; the kids and staff left are too involved with what they’re doing once they leave to notice us,” the Doctor assured him. “It wouldn’t be that catastrophic to be seen, would it?”

“If my sister’s still in politics, whether she stayed in the Scots branch of the Party or moved down here, then me popping up could damage her career,” Malcolm explained. “I’m surprised m’brother’s not gotten more shit, but a salesman can afford to be a neutral force in a political family.”

“A salesman? His older siblings in government and he had to get into sales?”

“It gave him a path to work up and now he’s in a cushy desk job, far beyond what any of us thought we’d get when we were nips,” he said. He was about to continue on when Clara walked into the room, a confused Jemma behind her. When the latter saw who precisely it was in the room, her face lit up excitedly, knowing that this wasn’t going to be about her essay-writing abilities after all.

“Uncle Mael!” the tween gasped in delight. She ran up and crashed into him, nearly knocking him to the floor.

“There’s my wee Jemmie,” he murmured. Malcolm stroked his niece’s hair and came to a sudden realization. “You’re taller than when I last saw yeh… much taller.”

“It’s been years, Uncle Mael,” Jemma sniffled. “You disappeared and we didn’t know where you went! No one does!” She then grew quiet, her voice cracking. “They even looked in the Thames.”

Darkness flickered across Malcolm’s face and he held Jemma close. “How long ago was that?”

“Four years.”

“Were you okay? They left you alone, didn’t they?”

“Auntie Muriel was questioned almost constantly for a while even though she’s been in Scotland all this time, but Mam and Dad and Granny only saw a policeman twice that I know of,” she replied. “I had to answer a couple, but it was once, and just about if I’d seen you.”

“Then you’ve never seen me,” he gently ordered. He pulled away so that he could look her dead in the eyes. “In three years I will be legally dead, and I set things up so that if something did happen to me, you can claim all my assets two years after that when you’re old enough for university, but _only_ if you don’t mention a _word_ about having seen me.”

“…but..!”

“No, that’s how the world works, because I am **_not_** throwing myself to those vultures only to have them lock me up for the rest of my life on charges I don’t fucking deserve. All I had will be _yours_ , and that way I’ll still be looking out for you even when I can’t be there.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her cheek, wiping away the tears that were beginning to stain her face. “It’s been nearly four months since I began traveling with Miss Oswald and the Doctor, and it’s better that I keep going with this life than resurface old shit and get everyone in trouble. You ever want to see me, just ask Miss Oswald, yeah? She’ll know how to reach me.”

“O… okay…” the tween nodded reluctantly. She hugged her uncle again and frowned critically. “You got fat.”

“What?! I did not!” he sputtered.

“Then why do you have a tummy?” she asked, poking him in the gut. “Don’t feed him too much, Miss Oswald, or it won’t be good for him.” Malcolm twitched at his niece’s stabbing finger, which was nearly more than the Doctor could handle before breaking out into laughter.

“We’ll take care of him, Jemma; don’t you worry,” he said with a smirk. “There’s all of time and space for him to see while staying away from Earth… and maybe even you too, when you’re ready.”

“She needs to finish school first; then we’ll talk,” Clara ordered. That was definitely something that could be agreed upon.

* * *

Malcolm sprinted into the open TARDIS door, skidding to a halt quicker than his old bones should have been capable of. Something about this kept him young, possibly even _growing young_ , and the exhilaration was overwhelming.

“Light ‘em up like a fucking Guy in November!” he grinned.

Clara and the Doctor initiated the sequences that would jettison a couple of the ship’s unused storage rooms in order to not only catapult them away from the planet’s massive gravitational field, but supply the native population with enough energy to kickstart a failed power generator whose only design flaw was the massive amounts of force needed to begin working in the first place. Now that Malcolm had finished rigging the ship to the generator, the three took off into the time vortex, laughing happily when they felt the familiar, subtle sway of the TARDIS, knowing that meant it was a success.

Without a word, Clara pulled Malcolm’s face down and began kissing him roughly. She had been giving him suggestive looks for days now, with the fact they hadn’t found enough time to duck away since being the only reason why she hadn’t fucked him stupid yet. He went to cup her arse and discovered that the Doctor was already there.

“Wait your turn, old man,” he grunted between kisses.

“Considering you had her front the last time too, you should be grateful,” the Doctor muttered into Clara’s neck. He ground his hips against their girlfriend’s backside, making Clara gasp in Malcolm’s mouth, sucking away his breath.

“Bed, now,” she commanded.

Her beaus obediently followed her to the bedroom, with everyone undressing and tumbling into bed quickly as they could. Malcolm won the luck of the draw and was on his back as he had the pleasure of Clara’s front side. He knew what was going on up top on the Doctor’s end—fuck, he was probably going to be there later that night anyhow when they switched it up—though didn’t think about it as he fondled a bare breast and pushed his way into the woman between them. Such a tiny thing yet there was so much room in both her heart and, well, more carnal places that her boyfriends enjoyed filling, leaving evidence of their presence before collapsing in an undignified pile of limbs and swearing.

If anything, the two men were grateful that they were alien species to one another, making their polyandrous situation much easier to come to terms with.


End file.
